


killing spree in white, eyes like broken christmas lights

by orphan_account



Series: fifty words for murder (and i'm every one of them) [2]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, the serial killer au continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“hey, look what i found.”<br/>“what’d you find, joshie?”<br/>“look and see.”</p><p>
  <i>throw the bait, catch the shark, bleed the water red<br/>fifty words for murder and i'm every one of them</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	killing spree in white, eyes like broken christmas lights

**Author's Note:**

> there are so many trigger warnings involved
> 
> blood, knives, saws, dismemberment  
> it's fucking murder what do you want from me  
> sorry mom

she’s still breathing.

it’s strange. she’s lasted the longest out of the five most recent that they’ve gone through; tyler’s ripped her chest straight up the middle, delved his hands into her organs, even gripped at her lungs to hear what kind of sound she would make. they all make different sounds, and hers has been his favorite this week. it’s a slow, raspy sort of choke, and it turned him on beyond belief.

lucky there’s josh. even he has standards. he doesn’t fuck girls and he doesn’t fuck corpses and he doesn’t fuck animals. anything else is fair game, as far as he’s concerned.

josh is the best lay he’s had so far. it’s the only reason he’s still alive – just because he can fuck. even if he’s annoying as all get out and tyler’s tried strangling him on numerous occasions. the bastard refuses to die.

“hey, look what i found.”

tyler’s busy. he grunts, doesn’t turn around, digs deeper into her stomach and squeezes at her lower intestine, feels it ooze beneath his hands; she stopped begging a while ago. man, she was a _screamer_. he made the first incision in her lower abdomen, just a little bigger than a fucking _paper cut_ , and she screamed like he’d shot her.

okay, maybe he’d dug it in four inches deep on the first go, but the incision really wasn’t that _big_. at least, it didn’t look that big on the surface. he’d punctured her kidney and they way it squirted out blood was delicious. he’d had way too much fun sucking it out from that wound.

he’d had to gag her to keep her from screaming again. she makes muffled little grunts every now and then as tyler digs around in her insides, but that’s it. it’s kind of disappointing. she’s too far gone to give him anything else, and it’s sad. playtime’s almost over, pal.

“what’d you find, joshie?” tyler croons, gazing at his hands, wrist-deep in her chest cavity; he runs his hands over her ribs, broken and shining pearl white underneath the stain of crimson, yanks to hear her squeal at the pain.

“look and see.”

“you’re fucking annoying.” tyler drags his eyes away from his prize for a second to look at josh; he’s cradling a wallet in one hand, brown leather, sifting through the billfold with the other. he pulls out a fistful of bills, and tyler’s eye catches on one with ‘100’ printed on the corner; he grins crookedly. must’ve fallen when he was dragging her drugged ass downstairs. “nice find. buy something nice for you later, yeah?”

he turns back to his girl, thoughts trailing off abruptly when he sees her unmoving state, eyes narrowing out of frustration – he gives her shoulder a shake. she can’t be done yet, right? he’s still having fun. they never last long enough.

her eyes are glazed over, chest stilled, breathing stopped.

fucking josh. he’d missed her taking her last breaths. it’s his favorite part.

he groans, slamming his palm against the concrete. he can practically feel josh flinch from where he’s standing behind him, still stupidly cradling the wallet in his hand. for someone who’s murdered innocent people and even fucked on top of their dead bodies, he’s always been _so_ jumpy.

“stop flinching,” he mumbles gruffly, shaking her stiff shoulder again even though it’s useless. at least she’s still warm. he likes it when they’re warm. “get the saw. i’m taking her upstairs.”

she’s a tiny thing, when he slides her off of the floor and into her arms; blood seeps from her open chest onto the front of his shirt, insides bulging out and pressing against his stomach. another pair of clothes he’ll have to throw away later. he knows where those hundreds are going, along with the new pair of lingerie he has in mind for josh.

it’s just about time they get a new wardrobe, anyway. her head hangs limp over his shoulder as he tugs her up closer to his chest and hauls her up the stairs; she weighs virtually nothing, and it’s part of the reason he’d picked her, aside from her hair. he’s got a thing for brunettes. they look wonderful in red.

no one ever said carrying a dead body was easy. she’s too pliable in his arms, but he manages to get her upstairs; they’re trailing blood up the stairs and over the hardwood floors as he traipses into the bathroom, nudging the door open with his heel.

he dumps her in the tub, fingers moving to the hem of his shirt and tugging up; he glances at himself in the mirror as he pulls his shirt over his head, at the dark circles under his eyes, his blood-matted hair sticking up at awkward, greasy angles.

josh’s light footsteps fall on the landing; he has a bucket in one hand and tyler’s favorite saw in the other. he sets the bucket on the counter and sticks the handle of the saw out to tyler, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and tugging at it with his teeth.

her blood’s beginning to dry over the lower half of his face, caking into his skin; his lips are stained red when he flits his tongue out to wet them, nudging tyler’s hand with the handle of the saw. “get busy, honey,” he whispers, and tyler grunts, grabbing at the saw and moving toward the tub.

josh tugs his shirt off and begins working at the button of his jeans, shimmying his skinny hips out of them and abandoning them on the floor; tyler glances over his shoulder, gazing up and down his frame. his ribs are too prominent, casting shadows over the rest of his lower body, and his hipbones are as sharp as the edge on his favorite knife. and, of course, he never goes on one of their trips without his favorite possessions; his fucking drawers are brimming with lingerie, and this time, he’s wearing black lace.

“you’re such a slut,” tyler scoffs, turning his attention back to the girl; she’d said her name started with an r, or something, back at the bar. rose, rosie, rosalind, rosalina – something of the sorts. he doesn’t care much for names. he touches the skin of her wrist and it’s so soft, pliable.

but he’s not here for the touch of her skin against his fingertips. he’s had his fun. he presses the tip of the saw against her shoulder and begins the rest of the night’s work; arguably, it’s not his favorite part, but it has to be done. the sound the saw makes when it scrapes across the bone of her shoulder is wonderful, sends shivers down his spine, goose bumps crawling up his arms and bare chest.

that’s his favorite noise.

josh slides up onto the counter, watching tyler do his work through eyes of morbid curiosity; he grows bored, after five minutes of the repetition, the saw sliding through her skin and separating her joints with ease. the tub’s filling with waves of ruby, and her porcelain skin is stained with crimson.

but it’s boring. he picks blood out from underneath his fingernails with his teeth. they need to be shaped again. maybe tyler will spoil him, let him get a manicure with the money they found in little ol’ rosie’s wallet.

maybe she was good for something, after all. he didn’t like the way tyler kept looking at her at the bar. he’s brimming with jealousy, and it torches his insides. why can’t tyler look at _him_ like that?

whatever. she’s fucking dead. tyler doesn’t fuck corpses, and tyler doesn’t fuck girls. tyler fucks _him_ , and tyler fucks him _good_. all these dead girls won’t know what it’s like to have him slide between their thighs, have his cock rutting up into them without stopping; no, _he’s_ the privileged one. they’ll only know what his hands feel like, deep and digging down in their insides, cradling their vital organs like precious gems and little snippets of treasures.

he sucks on his index for entirely longer than necessary, hoping maybe tyler will look up at him, half-hard in his panties, finger in his mouth. maybe he’ll get lucky and tyler will be in a good mood and he’ll fuck him again, hard, bend him over the tub and shove his face into the pool of her blood and threaten to kill him for the thousandth time over again.

he moans softly as he pops his finger out of his mouth and presses the spit-slick tip to his bottom lip, hoping to get even so much as a glance; but no, no response, nothing. just the muscles in tyler’s back rolling as he saws into her left shoulder and separates more of her limbs from her body. he huffs dejectedly. what’s a boy gotta do to get a little bit of attention around here?

josh flops down off of the counter and stalks toward tyler on his tip-toes, looking over the top of his head. pretty little rosie’s lost a lot of her blood; her pallid skin is soaked in the mixture. her right arm, separated at the shoulder joint, lays limp next to her body. he gazes over the shreds of her skin and giggles delightedly. tyler’s always been so good at turning their secret treasures into masterpieces.

he curls a bloody hand through tyler’s hair and scratches against his scalp.

“what d’ya want, josh?” tyler huffs. beads of sweat pool at his temples as he puts in the last bit of effort it takes to wrench her left shoulder from her torso; two arms down. getting so close already. josh wants it to last forever. “answer me when i fucking speak to you.”

tyler’s stopped sawing, and josh hadn’t even noticed. he swallows thickly, petting his hand deliriously through tyler’s sweaty hair. “nothin’,” he murmurs, suddenly frightened at the tone of his voice. tyler’s no stranger to using the saw on josh himself, but he’s never separated any of his body from its parts, thankfully.

he’s cut him deep enough that he had to stitch him back up later. he fucked him for hours on end afterwards as an apology, and josh wants him to slice him up more often, if that’s what he gets in return.

“nothing my ass, josh. what do you _want_?”

josh huffs. “don’t be like that,” he rolls his eyes, tugging on tyler’s hair to annoy him before backtracking, leaning up against the sink. tyler’s eyes follow him, trail down his skinny torso to his thighs, and they linger on the bulge in his panties, the wet spot forming at the tip.

“hard so soon, joshie?” tyler sighs, exasperated. he can’t catch a break. “guess you’ll have to wait for me to be done here. go play with yourself if you’re so desperate and maybe i’ll think about fucking you.”

that’s not what he wants, and tyler knows it all too well. he turns back to the night’s work and ignores josh despite his cock twitching in his jeans, starts cutting into the meat of her left leg. the legs are always the most difficult to piece apart.

but he always gets his job done. he severs her limbs into smaller pieces, cuts up the rest of her to be bagged. “go get the bags,” he says over his shoulder to josh, who’s slid up onto the counter again, swinging his bare, shaved legs back and forth in the air.

“would it kill you to say _please_?” josh hums, but he hops off the counter and moves toward the kitchen, flaunting his ass and wiggling his hips because he knows tyler’s still looking after him.

they’re getting kind of low on trash bags, he finds, as he digs through the cupboard underneath the kitchen sink; he pulls out a few of the good, durable kind, and makes a pit stop at the fridge to add it to their shopping list.

milk. eggs. bleach. he picks up the pen between blood-stained fingers and adds in his delicate, flowing script, _trash bags_.

the shower is running by the time he finds his way back to the bathroom; tyler’s in the shower with rosie’s body, the curtain pulled as he washes off her disembodied limbs.

he kind of wants to join him, wants to fuck him on top of rosie’s dead body so he can remind tyler just who he fucking belongs to, but he doesn’t. he pulls a pair of gloves from underneath the bathroom sink and slides on his pair, grabbing tyler’s pair and putting them on the counter.

“did you get the trash bags.”

“yes, sir,” josh chirps, admiring the black of the gloves against his pale skin. he likes wearing them.

“don’t call me that.”

he can imagine the cringe on tyler’s face. he _hates_ that word. it’s what his father liked to coerce him into saying right before he’d back him into the corner of his room; he would’ve been their first victim, if tyler wasn’t so adamant against killing family. josh still wants to hear him scream. he’s biding his time.

“give me a bag. gloves, too.” josh grabs both items, yanking back the shower curtain at the same time the spray shuts off; tyler’s standing in nothing but his boxers, plastered to his skin. he’s clean of rosie’s blood, and it’s _such_ a shame. he looks so much better when his hands are coated up to the wrists in rivulets of ruby red. josh likes to suck his fingers into his mouth, lick up the blood when they’re fucking slow and deep on their mattress; they’re constantly buying new sheets. tyler’s a messy boy.

tyler slides his gloves on and josh holds open a bag; he slides in random body parts until the bag is halfway full, steadily growing heavier. he watches slivers of rosie slide into the dark abyss of the trash bag with a wistful sort of nostalgia. tyler’s work has never looked better.

the last to go are the fingers and the teeth.

tyler’s favorites. he sits on the edge of the tub, soaking wet, drips of water sliding down his tanned skin, muscles twisting and rolling as he takes care to slice off every single one of her fingertips. he stacks them neatly next to his thigh; they’ll burn them in the bonfire later, along with most of the outing’s clothes.

he’s got a thing for teeth. he’d told josh about it once, when they were high and laying in bed together, legs tangled and sated, post-coital; he doesn’t remember what it was, and he’s never bothered to ask again. it’s just another quirk that the boy carries, and he loves it.

“pliers,” tyler says simply, examining the lower half of her jaw in his gloved hands, turning it from side to side; josh moves toward the bucket he’d carried up earlier, sifts through the various bottles of bleach and cleaning utensils before he finds the pliers. tyler’s favorite pair, of course, and when he hands it over, he makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat.

extra points for josh. there’s no _way_ he’s not getting lucky again tonight.

he pulls out every single one of her teeth and discards the empty shell that once was a part of rosie’s mouth into the bag; josh ties them up, and tyler leaves the teeth in the bathtub. he’ll clean them, shine them, and then put them away somewhere. josh doesn’t know where he hides them, but sometimes, when tyler thinks he’s asleep, he’ll crawl out of bed and he can hear the distant clink of teeth secured in a mason jar. his little treasures.

the disposal process is the same every time.

they dump the bags in the back of the pick-up and they drive in silence for half an hour until they reach the forest. they ditch rosie’s body (or whatever their name happens to be, this time around) into the darkness and they leave to let nature run its course.

and then they go home, and it’s time to start the bonfire.

it’s josh’s favorite part.

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME TO HELL


End file.
